Intersection
by Jessahme Wren
Summary: Jack and Renee deal with the new reality of their changing relationship.  My take on what was said or not said during the cab ride to Jack's apartment in episode 8x17. Oneshot.


They stood. Beneath the paltry shade of an ornamental tree jutting from the pavement, somehow living on an oasis of soil encroached upon by concrete. They stood and waited.

In silence, but not devoid of noise. The city screamed around them, in horns and shouts and mechanical whispers, and the noise they didn't make screamed inside their heads…words to say, or to hold stubbornly close.

Renee looked at him, his shoulders taut as the taxi he hailed approached the curb. It had been an eternity. Minutes, obviously, but a lifetime descending those stairs, her hand in his, warm and firm, and with every step, wondering what it all meant.

He looked at her, squinting in the morning sun, and quirked his mouth in an almost smile. Jack Bauer. Smiling (almost). But it didn't suit him, and the smile never reached his eyes.

He looked tired. Tired of so much. She could relate.

She looked down at her folded arms, her feet, the brown globs of gum and assorted nasty stuck on the sidewalk, just to avoid his eyes. He did the same, and she was grateful, suddenly, for the anemic little tree that held back the floodgates of their intersecting lives. Too fragile to lean on, too small to cower behind, they simply stood on either side of it.

The yellow cab stuttered to a halt, and he opened the door for her. Jack Bauer. Opening a door. She'd read about the Bauers, about his dad and brother. How a man like Jack could emerge from that brood of vipers she couldn't fathom.

He crossed to the opposite side, and she stood there, staring into the backseat of the cab. It was more than a cab, she realized, it was a crossroads, a nexus where she and Jack would meet on a plane that previously did not exist before this moment. Time stretched, suspended, in front of her. She discovered, not surprisingly, that she was afraid.

He stretched his hand across the seat next to him. Just a hand, and he locked eyes with her, his face a mix of emotions not unrelated to fear. And she took it.

-0-0-0-

Jack stared out the window, wondering what the hell he was doing. He and Renee had never been alone outside of work or crisis, and the latent awkwardness of this new association was shockingly palpable.

_He hadn't known her long. He really didn't need anyone right now (a lie), and she needed more of him than perhaps he was ready to give. He would only end up hurting her, and himself. _

Excuses. Convenient and comforting, but mostly lies. Truthfully, he hadn't known her long. But did it matter? Some butterflies lived only a few days, and he doubted they spent them contemplating their death.

He had learned to grab happiness in little snatches, little breaks in the turmoil. It was so rare. And he believed he could be happy with Renee, and that he could make her happy. What was so wrong with that?

They stopped at a red light, and he stole a glance at her. She sat rather placidly, gazing through the glass. Her shoulders were relaxed, but she tensed and worried the fingers in her lap. He observed the ivory column of her neck, a stray tendril of hair framing her perfect face. Passing glints of light through the window played beautifully against the dusting of freckles on her fair skin, her delicate nose, and her eyes, sharp and shadowed.

Yes. It was perfect to him.

They were more than halfway there. _And then what?_ He honestly had no clue. Maybe they could talk, get to know each other. Maybe get something to eat. All prospects that terrified him.

When he finally looked away, the light had changed. He resumed his watch out the window, looking at everything and nothing.

"_We'll figure it out."_

He'd told her that, on the phone, only hours ago. And he supposed they would.

-0-0-0-

Renee studied her hands, the driver's headrest, and Jack's motionlessness. He didn't fidget. _Maybe he never did_, she thought. She did enough for both of them.

They sat. In silence, but not devoid of noise, and she was nervous. She and Jack had always had a template, a chain of command and protocol around which to choreograph their movements. Now, there was nothing. A tightrope to walk with no safety net.

"_We're going home."_

He'd said that, to Cole, when he'd turned over command, and she suppressed the urge to break down the sentence syntactically, to overanalyze it in an effort to understand her part in the equation. Her lips mouthed the words, and she was startled to find that she'd said it aloud, to herself.

Jack heard her speak, but not what she'd said. "It's not much farther," he offered mildly. She nodded, her mind racing, and she had the irrepressible urge to say something, almost anything. "Does Kim live in the city too?"

He looked straight ahead. "No, she lives in L.A.," he said. And that was it. She wondered briefly if there was really so little to say, or if the heavy tension that permeated the taxi served to stifle all thought. She looked at him, studying his profile as he looked out the window. A somber contemplativity settled around him.

"You did all you could for Hassan," she said quietly.

When he didn't turn to face her right away, she thought she'd offended him, or at least unsettled him. But he looked at her softly, with that almost-smile, and said "Yeah." Something passed over his face then, and he looked at her quizzically.

"Why'd you want to go back to CTU?"

It caught her a bit off guard, and she considered. "Knee-jerk reaction I guess." She shrugged. "Not like I had anywhere else to go," she said with some self-deprecation, but her little joke fell flat. She thought of that possibly for the first time. Where _could _she go? A hotel?

She felt Jack's eyes on her, and she turned to look at him just as the taxi pulled in front of his building. They sat for a moment, in no seeming hurry to exit, and she relaxed a little. Jack's eyes were soft as he peered at her intently. He smiled. "Come on," he said quietly. And she did.

-0-0-0-


End file.
